


Yellow Fever

by CalicoColors



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Blood, Fever, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Negative Thoughts, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, has a happy end though, heavy stuff ahead please heed tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoColors/pseuds/CalicoColors
Summary: Riku doesn’t think he’s losing his mind. Not yet, at least.But…something just doesn’t feel right.Is it just him? It can’t be, can it?
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 88





	Yellow Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this is kind of heavy.  
> Warnings for possibly triggering material. If I missed a tag, please let me know.

“What are you doing, Riku?”

“Huh?” Riku mumbles, sitting up with a start where he was drifting off at the table.

“What are you doing?” The question repeats. “You think this is funny?”

“Mickey?” Riku twists behind him to see the King standing there, hood drawn over his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, did we have a mission? I must have forgot…sorry, you should have woken me up sooner—”

Mickey takes a step forward. “Is this a joke to you? What are you doing, lazing around?”

“Oh—I was…” Riku pulls at the books he was using as a pillow—he fell asleep? That’s so unlike him—before his voice trails off, the venom in the King’s cheerful voice…unsettling. “Did something happen?”

“Open your eyes,” Mickey murmurs. “Either act like a Master or quit taking up space.”

Somewhere in Riku’s chest, the first strings of ice begin their rapid spread.

Who was—why is the King saying this to him out of the blue? Why is he wearing that outfit?

Something’s wrong.

Riku’s gaze turns steely. “Who are you?”

A flash of dark eyes wrapped in shadow. “Exactly who you think it is. Just more fed up with your failures. Less forgiving of someone like you.”

They stand there at opposite ends of the darkened room, drenched in shadows, neither daring to break the growing-buzzing-encompassing silence, and Riku’s just about to ask more questions, strike out, call for help—

“Riku? You okay?” Mickey’s voice pops in again, this time from his right, and Riku’s chair clatters back as he stands with a jerk.

“You—how did you—” Riku stammers, glancing between the two Mickey’s—

But there’s only one. The one looking at him with concern at his frantic movements. The Mickey that was behind him wearing a black cloak is gone.

Riku blinks, presses a hand to his eyes. He could have sworn…he was just there, wasn’t he?

One of Mickey’s ears twitches. “Didja have a bad dream? There’s some tea in the kitchen if ya wanna take a break, you’ve been studying for quite some time…”

“Yeah…yes,” Riku says absently, mind still stuck on _fed up._ “Maybe I should…um, just now, were you on the other side of the room?”

“I just got here, Riku.” Now Mickey looks _really_ worried.

Okay, okay, so that was a dream. Just a terrible, weird, extremely realistic dream. Riku shakes off the lingering cold. “Right. Of course.”

Some tea would be a good to get his mind off this, and to warm his chilled hands. The King sends him off with orders to relax for the day and promises to meet up with him later.

Just as Riku turns to leave, he looks back one last time against his better judgement.

In Mickey’s shadow, _contempt_ snarls back at him.

* * *

Riku doesn’t think he’s losing his mind. Not yet, at least.

But…something just doesn’t feel right.

Is it just him? It can’t be, can it?

The past few nights, he’s woken in cold sweats that stick him to his sheets, a scream building in his throat he just barely manages to muffle in his pillow. There’s—nightmares are normal for him, for all of them really, but it’s never been like _this._

Ever since he became a Dream Eater, night terrors have held little power over him. When you can shape dreams to your will, they become a moot point.

For Sora it’s much worse. That’s why he’s _Sora’s_ Dream Eater first and foremost, after all.

But these dreams…they aren’t like normal. They aren’t like his normal. This is shaky limbs and clammy skin. This is paranoia that keeps his eyes wide and searching, upending his dresser and opening his closet door to hunt for the gazing eyes he _knows_ are watching him.

This is keeping the lights on for the 3 hours of darkness left in the night, every night, and no matter how little sleep he got before that point he just _can’t_ fall back into bed.

And no matter how much he meditates, how much he avoids dark hallways, how much he tells himself _it’s all some fucked up hallucination,_ the visions won’t leave.

But why this? Why now?

Why him?

* * *

Whenever Kairi is staying at the tower, Riku spars with her.

Training at Merlin’s has improved her skills significantly, but there are tons of useful tricks that Mickey or Riku can teach her as well. Things they’ve learned that come in handy in the life-and-death situations they’ve been in before, or _will_ be in.

“Good hit!” Riku calls after she jumps back, a glancing blow on his arm aching. “Try pivoting more on your left, though. Circle away from my power side.”

Kairi nods, expression focused, before readying another tackle-swipe.

Normally, Mickey would be by his side helping explain a few stunts he struggles on describing, but—Riku doesn’t want to say he’s _avoiding_ the King, exactly, except for the fact he totally is.

That incident in the kitchen was disturbing, to say the least.

He asked Kairi to spar with him after the memory refused to leave his mind, wondering _why, why, why_ did the King say that, why did that happen.

He’s too distracted to teach properly but that’s okay, Kairi doesn’t seem to mind and simply welcomes the exercise. The blows and punches seem to be hitting him extra hard, though. Is he really that worn out?

All of a sudden, Kairi flinches back away from him, a gasp on her lips.

There’s a blinding pain in Riku’s wrist, the _bad_ wrist, and—his hand is swarming in shadows. Riku flinches just as hard except he can’t get _away,_ the shadows are leaking from his very pores, freezing and aching and agonizing—

“Light!” Kairi yells, and Riku almost wants to shout _no,_ suddenly afraid, and realizing then he’s right to be so.

A burst of light envelops the room and sears his retinas. Riku screams as it burns through his skin.

Within that blazing-burning-fiery glow, Kairi’s light envelops her like a halo, her bright eyes aflame.

“I knew it,” she says, kind voice a snarl. “You never left the darkness, did you?”

Riku opens his mouth to deny it, but the shadows grow in numbers, incensed by the light. The proof is right here. Denials are meaningless.

It shouldn’t burn! He’s a part of the light, right? The darkness—it shouldn’t _soothe_ the pain!

Kairi walks forward slowly, each step bringing her brilliant light closer to his unfathomable darkness.

“I knew there was a reason I always hated you. You creeped me out, Riku. God, I was so blind then—the darkness was thick in your heart even then!”

Another step.

“I wish me and Sora took the raft and left you behind. How could you—how could you destroy my _home?_ ”

Step. Riku wants to squeeze his eyes closed, but the image is burned into his vision.

“Hurting all those princesses! Hurting me! Hurting _Sora!”_

She kneels in front of him.

“You want to drag Sora down with you, but I won’t let you. I won’t let you crush his spirit or shadow my light any more than you already have!”

Leaning in, voice a whisper, growing to a shout—

“You’re not worthy to stand with us. You’re far from worthy to have _Sora_ care so much about you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re anything but a villain. You vile, heartless _monster!”_

Now Riku really _does_ squeeze his eyes closed, the agony too much to bear for his sight but worse for his heart.

The King saw it. Now Kairi sees it too. Two of the brightest people he knows.

That can’t mean…it’s true, right?

Maybe tears jump to his eyes, maybe they don’t—anything he feels is evaporated in fire smoke, the shadows on his hand writhing, twisting, pulling—

And then, the light fades.

Kairi’s hand is shaking where it’s outstretched towards Riku, expression concerned.

“Riku! You—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard! Are you okay, you just started— _screaming—”_

“Fine, I’m fine—” Riku gasps, sounding anything but. When Kairi reaches out to help him up, he flinches back, still seeing that blazing light and the furious gaze within it.

At her pause, he takes the opportunity to stand on shaky legs and hightail it out, feeling the fake burns on his skin ache and peel.

But besides the purpling bruise on his wrist, nothing is wrong.

Nothing, save for him and his bitter, dark thoughts.

* * *

It takes time, but he realizes that his friends? Are not always his friends.

The shadows have a hold on them, too. They’ve gotten especially good at replicating their every move, down to the cruel twists of their sneers and their knife-sharp words that hurt more than any not-real bruise they give him.

They can’t hide their ink-stained hands or golden eyes. That’s what always gives it away; that proves to him that it’s not real, that it’s all a not-real illusion.

But illusions aren’t that easy to dispel.

Even if he knows those aren’t his real friends…it’s still _them_ , in a twisted way. They still wear his friends’ faces. They still have the same voices.

Their eyes, gold or not, are still _theirs_.

All Riku sees when he looks in them is himself—his scared, pathetic, wicked self—reflecting his fears right back at him as poison seeps from every (fake, yet oh-so- _real)_ whispered word.

Because Riku’s been there. He’s said those same twisted words while _he_ was drenched in darkness.

And he knows—for such strong feelings to become warped like that, they have to exist in the first place.

* * *

In the corner of the library, shadows are watching him.

He’s been getting better at seeing through the illusions. Or, he thinks he has. He still has to swipe at them to be sure, but it just passes through them harmlessly. Never real.

“Go away,” he mutters to a blinking yellow-eyed shadow.

“I was here first,” Lea’s voice appears out of _nowhere,_ and Riku startles from where he was swatting the air with a book. Where did he come from? Was he here all this time? “Whoa, hey, chill out!” He raises his hands in a placating gesture.

Hesitating for only a moment, Riku lowers his hand. “Oh—sorry, I think I zoned out for a moment.”

“Uh, yeah, no worries man…say, you doing okay? You’ve got…” Lea gestures to all of his face with a grimace.

Riku touches the bags under his eyes. They…can’t be that bad, can they? He hasn’t looked in the mirror recently, but by touch alone they don’t feel too deep.

Well, Lea’s judgmental on the best of days, so whatever, he won’t think about it too hard.

“It’s nothing. Slept on the wrong side of the bed,” he says with a voice rough from exhaustion.

…Why did he say that? Why didn’t he tell him the real reason? That he’s terrified of his dreams and even now, has wet palms in his clenched fists from how _nervous_ he is at sensing the shadows gaze at his back?

The darkness binds his voice from the inside out, and he’s afraid if he says too much the tar will spill from his mouth and reveal his sickened, blackened teeth—

Riku shakes his head aggressively. No, those aren’t healthy thoughts. What’s going on in his head? What’s…

What’s he doing here, again?

“Yeah, I get it. Oh, which reminds me!”

Suddenly, Lea’s hand turns inky-dark, bleeding black, and slowly coalesces into chakram burning with dark flame. “I still owe you.”

“Owe—” and then the chakram points press into his chest, fire lashing at his skin, burning right though his shirt, and Lea’s grasps his fist in a bruising grip when he lashes out instinctively.

“For what you did. You know what kind of pain you put Roxas through? _Xion?_ What it did to me?” The points of Lea’s—no, _Axel’s,_ this isn’t Lea, it can’t—weapon dig, and dig, and _dig,_ breaking through the skin in deep divots that make him wince. “Fuck, you’re a real piece of work. A sick bastard who takes and takes and _takes_ for selfish reasons. You don’t care about the consequences _we_ have to suffer for your shortcomings!”

No matter how hard he pulls, Axel won’t let go, tugs him forward as he pulls back, fire burning in his eyes so harshly it nearly scorches him twice as worse as the weapon sinking into his chest.

The flames burn, and ache, and he nearly chokes as the fire dries his skin and singes his hair—but at the same time, lingering—as if the dark flames _belonged—_

The shadows whisper behind him. _Mis-take. Fail-ure. Part of us. Part of **you.**_

He’s not—he’s not part of the darkness anymore! He accepted it!

“This is for Roxas, you bastard! Fuck—he deserved to live! Xion deserved to live! They were my friends! You _killed my friends!”_

A wave of dark energy lashes from Axel, and Riku falls backwards, barely processing what happened and not soon enough to avoid clipping the coffee table on the way down.

Riku yells, grits his teeth, pain blooming in his skull. “I’m sorry! I—didn’t—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You _did_ mean that. You know why? Because you’re a bad person, Riku. You can make all the excuses you want, but you did this. You did this. You ruined us.”

Axel’s hand reaches down, still stained with fire, and Riku feels his throat bubble with that inky tar he has to hold back, hold back, don’t see me, don’t look at me—

In a flash, he leaps to his feet and makes for the door.

He—he can’t. He can’t fight. Not now, not _Axel,_ not while he’s saying those things. Not when he’s only speaking the truth—all he does is hurt people. Not while Roxas and Xion stand behind him with red dripping from their empty eye sockets, wailing—

The hand swipes, misses, and then the voice follows, though tone noticeably less threatening than before. “Riku—Riku, hey! What the hell is going—! _Oi!”_

Riku runs. He runs down the winding stairs, two at a time, teetering and wobbling from god-knows-what at this point.

In every doorway, Xion whispers. _“I just…I just I wanted to live, I wanted to be with my friends…why…?”_

Every landing, Roxas screams. _“You fucking murderer! Sick bastard! I’m my own person, you hear me?—I had a future! I had a life! And you took that **away from me—”**_

He runs, and runs, and _runs._

By the time the shadows quiet and the blood stops dripping down the back of his neck, it’s already night again.

His tears run red.

* * *

“I have received…reports, about you Riku,” Yen Sid begins. “Your teammates have expressed their concern over you.”

There’s still a wad of bandages haphazardly taped to the back of his head where the coffee table edge cut. Riku stands tall with his hands behind his back and face smoothed in a cool, collected mask, refusing to react.

Of course. He dreaded the day that someone finally approached him about his increasingly unstable actions over the past week. It was only a matter of time.

He wonders what made them finally throw their hands up in defeat, to force their _Master_ to chew him out.

Or…is this for another reason? What did they say to Yen Sid exactly?

Maybe they emphasized he’s unwell. That he’s gone mad, teetering dangerously on the road to dusk.

That maybe he’s succumbing to darkness again, and he needs to be detained before he can be left off the chain again like the loyal dog he is to the Heartless.

That maybe he’s nothing. That he’s not their friend anymore. That he’s evil and sick in the head—

“Riku, I ask you this not as your Master, but as a confidant. Are you well?”

He swallows back the bile that builds at that question. It takes him a minute to speak, to push back the waves of nausea, tongue stuck like a Blizzard spell froze it solid.

Only when he calms down and decides to not say anything do the shadows release their cold hold on his beating heart.

“I’m fine.”

No matter how much confidence he pushes into his words, though, his voice still shakes.

Yen Sid’s far-seeing eyes squint, ever so slightly. He doesn’t believe him, but that’s okay—it’s not about making him understand, it’s about Riku holding it together enough to pass as somewhat normal.

He cannot, under any circumstances, make them think he’s unworthy of standing here.

“Regardless, your teammates concern is worrying, considering the circumstances. Therefore, I am making an executive decision to place you off active duty—”

“No!” Riku bursts out, rudely interrupting—fuck, keep it together, don’t let them see, don’t let them know— _why can’t he say **anything—**_

He clears his throat, ashamed at the outburst. “Apologies, Master. But I’m perfectly fine. My—teammates are exaggerating. I can take any mission, any assignment you ask of me. Please.”

“Your next assignment is to listen to my orders, Master Riku, and I expect you to follow through on it with the full effort you place into every other mission you are given.” Yen Sid’s voice is stern and unwavering.

“No, I can do it! Master Yen Sid, please, let me prove—"

“You have done enough, Riku. Be mindful of yourself for once.” As he goes to open his mouth again, Yen Sid’s words turn cold. “You are _dismissed.”_

And his mouth snaps closed.

That can’t mean…

All Riku hears is _failure, failure_ beating its haunting rhythm in his chest.

_“You’re undeserving of the Keyblade. Ignorant, rude, abusive. If you do not get your act straight, I’ll rescind your title. Who are you fooling, thinking you can protect anyone? You can’t even protect your own heart from falling back into the darkness.”_

The candle skull on the Master’s desk bursts into cackles as if hearing his thoughts, empty sockets filled with shadow.

“You don’t belong here!” it cackles. “Weak! Weak! Weak—!”

For moment, Riku closes his eyes, taking in deep breaths, and reaffirms to himself that the voice is fake, that this isn’t real…and they slowly drift away. Far slower than last time he tried this exercise.

It’s getting worse. The hallucinations.

And still, _still,_ he can’t speak.

Behind Yen Sid’s desk, Maleficent looks down at him, and that’s _not real,_ he knows that without a doubt. How could she have broken in? How can Yen Sid _not_ see her?

It doesn’t make sense, therefore it’s not true.

But suddenly, he’s 15 years old, completely and utterly alone for the first time in his life, staring up at Maleficent as she ruffles his hair and calls him _powerful_ and _special,_ and she seems so imposing, then.

But he’s young and lonely, cast away by his own hand, abandoned by Sora, and he soaks that minuscule kindness up like a sponge, listens to her every lie.

And he _wants_ to be that person Maleficent thinks him to be.

The longer Riku refuses to speak, more her smirk grows.

“Good. You learn fast,” she says proudly, like she did the first time he ever summoned the Heartless to his bidding, the first time he molded one to fight for him in a facsimile of his best friend, channeling his lonely-angry-fear laden black-smoke heart into the darkness.

A cold trickle runs down his spine. Nausea, again. He doesn’t have much time before his breakfast makes a reappearance.

So he bows his head, complying like the good, obedient Master he strives to be. “Yes, Master Yen Sid.”

He turns away to avoid Yen Sid’s piercing gaze, too afraid of the disappointment he expects to see.

“Good pet,” he hears from Maleficent, mockingly syrup-sweet, and the door closes softly behind him like the last hammer of a nail in his self-made coffin.

* * *

On his way out, Sora is there, leaning on the wall beside the door. He’s dressed in his travel clothes, hair fluffy and spiked messily the way Riku so loves. His skin is clear and unblemished, not a scratch on him, looking clean and lively and charmingly adorable—

And his eyes are tinted yellow.

“Didn’t go well?” he says, and his smile is all teeth.

* * *

He goes to Destiny Islands. Back to where it all started. Where else could he go?

Nowhere else would take him, not like this. He doesn’t bother asking, anyways; just escapes to the one world he knows no one real will be there to care about him. It’s better this way.

Sora dogs his footsteps the whole trip—the _not-Sora,_ it’s _not_ his Sora, no matter how much he looks and talks and acts just the same.

“Ahh, I missed the beach!” Not-Sora exclaims, deeply inhaling the salty sea breeze. “This was a good idea, right, Riku?”

Riku continues slicing the bark off the log he’s holding. Maybe if he ignores him, he’ll go away.

It hasn’t worked yet, but he keeps hoping it will. _Take a hint,_ he begs.

Footsteps crunch in the sand, and then Not-Sora stands above him, casting a shadow. Riku, hunched over, can only see the way his steps make no indentation in the sand, the way none of it sticks to his soles. Like he’s not actually there—because he _isn’t._

The real Sora wouldn’t be with him. The real Sora is out on a mission, saving lives, while Riku is left behind with shadows of his past mistakes.

A Master getting benched because he’s too weak to move on. Ha. What a joke.

“Rikuuu! Pay attention to me!” Not-Sora whines, reaching out a hand, and against Riku’s better judgement he flinches back, acknowledging him in the process. Not-Sora laughs. “Scaredy-cat.”

This Sora, despite being made of shadows and dust, isn’t cruel like the other shadows. Or, more to say, not cruel _yet._

At some point, though, the “nice” illusion will shatter, and he’ll fade away into just another hallucination as the rest of them. But if this Sora puts his hands on Riku, if he’s somehow _solid—_

Then Riku will be forced to acknowledge that this isn’t a figment of his imagination.

He can’t risk that.

Any day now he’ll wake up from this living nightmare, he hopes. Sometime soon preferably.

With a huff, Riku averts his eyes. “Go away.”

Not-Sora puts his hands behind his head, swaying back and forth on his heels— _just like the real Sora, even down to the funny smile—_ and Riku wants to punch him square in the jaw for daring to copy his mannerisms so well.

“That doesn’t work on me! I’m that fly in your ear you can’t get to stop buzzing, haha.”

His pocket knife digs deep into the bark and cuts off a too-large swath, thinning the sapwood past his desired amount. He curses.

He could blame his sweaty palms on the island heat, but that doesn’t explain the biting cold leeching to his bones.

In his pocket, his phone rings.

“Ooo, who is it, who is it! Tell me!” Sora says, bouncing around him. Riku side-steps his attempts and stands to walk farther down shore.

“Hello?” Riku answers hesitantly.

 _“Hello? Riku?”_ Terra’s voice echoes over the line, and Riku’s heart beats hopefully. Its sounds like Terra, gently curious.

Maybe this is real, for once.

“Terra! H-hey, what’s wrong?”

_“Hey, hi! I just wanted to check in on you. How have you been?”_

Riku’s very glad he answered this as a phone call instead of on video. There’s no mistaking his pallid features in person, but his tired voice is easy enough to hide through the robotic Gummiphone reception.

“Good. Took a few days off to rest up, but I should be fine to go out on regular missions again soon.”

“No you won’t be,” Sora says behind him. His ominous words are overly-bright.

_“Yeah? I heard from Kairi you were sick…are you sure everything’s okay? Need us to stop by where you’re at, drop off some meds? Ventus made this really good tomato-basil soup—”_

“No! No, um, don’t worry about it. I’m already getting over it, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Riku says, starts to mutter at the end. The sand under his feet is starting to spin.

_“Well…okay, if you say so. I’m sure Sora will be around soon to help you out if there is anything you needed. And we’re all just a phone call away if you change your mind!”_

Riku wants to tell him to do anything _but_ tell the real Sora what’s going on, anything but that, but the Not-Sora overhears through Riku’s too-loud phone speaker and decides to butt in. “Hi, Terra!” he all but yells into his ear.

Of course, Terra doesn’t respond, because this Sora is an illusion—

 _“Oh, Sora’s already there?”_ Terra says, voice down two octaves, and Riku’s body goes cold. Terra laughs. _“The right Sora, too! Are you taking care of Riku?”_

“I’m on my best behavior,” Not-Sora— _real Sora? No it can’t be, it **can’t be—**_ says.

_“You don’t have to be. I mean, look at what you’re dealing with. I don’t envy you.”_

“How—how are you—” Riku stammers, swinging his head to face Sora. “You’re not real! You can’t be real!”

Sora giggles, tossing an arm over his shoulders, and—and it’s _cold,_ ice cold in a way Sora never is but it has a distinctive weight. A _real weight, on his shoulders, pressing—_

 _“GET AWAY FROM ME!”_ Riku all but screams, trying to push away, but his feet are frozen, his mind running in circles trying to understand.

_“Riku, quit being so pathetic. I never should have passed the Keyblade to **you,** what was I thinking? Look at you! Feeble, weak. I may have given into darkness at one point, but at least I didn’t **bathe** myself in it like you did.”_

“No, you told me…that’s not true! I already proved myself, I told you I kept my promise to protect what matters, and you said I _did,_ and that I was strong enough—"

He’s aware he’s rambling, that he’s talking like he’s that 5 year old kid on the Play Island all those years ago, but it feels like his whole world view is being ripped up in front of his very eyes with no way to stop it.

 _“And look what a good job you’re doing,”_ Terra says sarcastically. But Terra doesn’t _do_ sarcasm, this has to be another hallucination, a waking nightmare.

It settles his ground slightly. “You’re not real,” Riku says firmly.

 _“I’m not?”_ Terra says. _“Well, that’s fine if you don’t believe **me.** But **you** know in your heart that it’s true.”_

Sora leans in even closer, somehow. “Aw, Terra, don’t be so hard on him. It’s not your fault you chose the wrong guy, and not his that he’s…well, like _this._ So useless _.”_

_“I know we all make mistakes but…I’m going to regret choosing you for a long, long time.”_

“Y’know, even though he _really_ likes the darkness, I caught him jumping at his own shadow earlier. Isn’t that just the saddest?”

 _“Deplorable,”_ Terra all but spits. The sand surrounding the beach is turning dark even in the bright midday sun.

“You’re lying. You’re lying to me, y-you…you believed in me. You trusted me! Didn’t I keep my promise? I wanted to—I wanted to stand strong and keep them safe and—” he chokes at the last part.

_I wanted you to be proud of me._

Sora ruffles his hair. “There you go again with your dumb thoughts. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him, Terra.”

_“Good. I’m proud of you, Sora.”_

Finally, Riku manages to unstick his feet, jerking away with a thick feeling burning in his throat and pressing behind his eyes. “STOP IT! STOP IT!”

In his mind, he’s still a kid on the island, gazing at this kind, mysterious stranger who made him swear to be strong and thinking _I want to be like him. I want to protect the ones I love, just like him._

And—

The memory is wrong.

In that memory, what he sees in his mind’s eye, it’s that Terra of now—glaring, sneering—dark eyes and pale hair—spitting _feeble, weak coward—_

_“Look in front of you, Riku.”_

Unconsciously, as if his body possessed, his gaze drifts to the sea.

A million beady eyes stare back at him, a writhing wave of shadows, creeping forward in waves to try and grab at his ankles.

To drag him back, they chant. Where he belongs.

_No, no. That’s not—he **can’t be—**_

And yet, Riku stands frozen. Unable to fight. Unable to run.

_Weak._

On the phone, as if he’s listening through a tunnel, Terra’s voice has shifted completely, turning panicked and loud. Riku’s hands are shaking so much it’s difficult to even hold up the device anymore. _“Riku, what’s wrong!? Hey, talk to me, what’s going on—!"_

Riku hangs up, hyperventilating, curling his knees to his chest on the now-calm beach and shutting off his mind, ignoring the way the Gummiphone franticly chimes at his shoes.

Hours pass before he manages to scrap up what’s left of his composure and piece himself back together.

* * *

In certain lighting, this Sora looks just the same as _his_ Sora. As the hours—days—what time is it, again?—pass, Riku stops caring as much.

Nothing he does to keep him away works. No matter how much he ignores, snaps, covers his ears, threatens, even begs—Sora’s persistent.

He hates responding, _hates_ that this Sora has such a tight hold on him by taking advantage of the fact that he can’t _not_ turn to Sora, can never ignore Sora completely. He doesn’t want to respond, and yet—he does anyways. Again and again.

Sora smiles in victory every time he lashes out, mockingly keeping score.

Riku wants to hurt him, slam him into the ground and hurt him just as much as he hurts Riku by simply existing to torture him, but he can’t.

Not even a fake hallucination Sora bred from the wasteland of his mind could be hurt by his hand. He’s a coward like that—even if he _knows_ it’s not real, _it’s not,_ he just…he can’t risk the off chance that he’s wrong.

And this Sora acts _so well_ too.

 _Sora would never say these things,_ Riku tries to console himself. He just wouldn’t. Sora isn’t cruel, not like…

“It’s not being cruel Riku—I’m just trying to get you to _see,”_ Sora says. “The truth. The truth that you never left the dark. Don’t you think it’s time to give up the act?”

Riku is a Keyblade Master. It’s a title he worked hard to get. It’s one of his proudest achievements; when Yen Sid declared his title, and Sora grabbed him ‘round the waist and crowed happily. When Terra met him much later, clapping a hand on his shoulder and saying _you’re a great Master and a leader to all. You’ve done well._

Those were some of the happiest moments of his life.

Everyone was so proud of him. Everyone believed him to be a great friend and a wonderful person.

But, maybe they lied. Maybe they didn’t realize until just now how deep his sickness runs.

When Mickey told him _you’re not alone_ and _the light’ll never give up on you…_

Was he lying?

No, no…Mickey wasn’t lying. Riku was to himself.

It’s not so easy to sever ties to the darkness. He was stupid to believe he could. Stupid, and blind.

The shadows giggling behind him are proof of that.

* * *

Naminé sends him messages regularly. The messages are nice, and always put a smile on his face as they talked about funny things that happened during their days. She was one of his closest friends; one of those people Riku could truly call a close friend, not just someone he knows.

Now, though, Riku doesn’t even look at his phone.

The messages aren’t nice anymore.

It dings on the bedside table, screen lighting up the dark room he’s barricaded himself in. Sora’s eyes light the other half of the room from where he’s been staring at Riku for the past two hours, unblinking.

 **Naminé:** Look.

“Why’re you ignoring our friends, Riku?” Sora pouts.

Riku says nothing. Not-Real-Sora cannot be talked to anymore. To preserve his sanity, that’s not allowed.

He knows what the message is about. He knows what she wants him to look at.

The screen lights up again. **Picture message received.**

More drawings.

Black and purple scribbles interlaced with cracks of fluorescent blue. Himself, standing above it all, smirking or smiling and in his hands—a friend, suffering. Him hurting someone he loves—

Or, the scribbles painted over his form, a look of fear, torn in a scream, weights around his ankles dragging him down, and down, and down, just like he does to others, a lead weight sinking them to the cold ocean floor…

He _was_ cold at one point, wasn’t he? It seems impossible now—he’s _hot,_ burning up from the inside, the outside. From his nose to his knees, fire lashes all around him.

The flames are dark. That’s all that ever calls to him now.

Everything _burns._ Heart, mind, body, soul.

And Sora is beside him every step of the way, hands trailing icicles as he stares down Riku, skin almost ghostly in the light from the phone shaking in Riku’s hand.

“I’m all you have left, Riku,” he hums. “But we all have to grow up eventually.”

* * *

Riku realizes, as the sun is going down, that it’s only been one day.

_One single day._

An entire day of Sora hanging off his arm, pushing him around, needling with bitter words and spiteful smiles. One day, of being back on his very first home, and remembering everything that went wrong on the worst day of his life.

That night, he glances at his reflection for the first time in a while after avoiding it for so long. And blinks. And blinks, and blinks.

Long, pale hair. Flinty eyes. Deep, dark bags just underneath.

Next to him, Ansem, Seeker of Darkness, reaches out a gloved hand, twining some of his bangs around his hand and yanking. “We look so alike, now. Ironic, how you wasted all this time trying to escape me, and in the end…we are the same.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you,” Riku grits.

“All this time resisting me, resist the pull of darkness…why even fight, child? When it’s so deeply entrenched in your very soul?”

In the mirror, his reflection smiles at him, but Riku isn’t smiling—he’s grimacing at the pain, the panicked ache in his hyperventilating lungs sending black spots scattering in his vision like marbles.

His reflection has golden eyes and before his very gaze, reaches out a dark-stained hand, out, out, _through the mirror,_ towards him—

“Surrender to the darkness. Or I’m sure your _friends_ will eliminate you long before you can so much as strike back with your pitifully weak heart.”

The mirror shatters.

Riku pants, tremors wracking his arm. Splatters of blood patter into the sink from where the glass shards embedded themselves into his skin where fist met reflection.

One long day. A day that felt like a year.

How many more days of this?

On his left, suddenly, Sora. “This is your punishment, ‘ku. You should have rotted in the Realm of Darkness where you belong and left us in peace. Did you really think you could just come back and continue living in the light like nothing ever happened?”

Tilting his face towards him, Sora’s voice, for the first time, turns whisper-dark, soft and almost fond. “Did you really think we loved you? That _I_ ever did? You disgusting monster.” Riku’s chin drops to his chest as Sora lets it go, and then, for once—Sora leaves on his own.

He glances back just before he turns the corner, a smile on his face.

“You know what you have to do, Riku.”

* * *

His old black cloak is heavy, a weight to it he remembers well though not fondly.

Riku hesitates on the blindfold. But when he steps outside, Sora is looking at the moon, and his eyes are pure yellow. Not just the iris, or the pupil. The entire eye glows like a lighthouse beacon, reflecting the pale light from the night sky.

“Look at the moon!” Sora enthuses.

The moon is bright and full. Slowly, under his watch—shifting, curving…it fits in the palm of his hand in the shape of a heart.

“Isn’t it pretty, Riku?” Sora says as his tan skin darkens the brighter the moon shines over him, casting a harsh shadow. “Reminds you of home, doesn’t it?”

He puts the blindfold on. Where he’s going, he doesn’t need to see, and he doesn’t want his last sight of the Realm of Light to be that dark Sora standing under Kingdom Hearts.

The only person he wants to see isn’t here, not really. So, no point in waiting.

Sora’s humming as Riku rows them to the play island. Halfway there, he abruptly recognizes the tune, and nearly knocks him in the water with one of his oars.

That’s…their song. Their Sound Ideas. Him and Sora’s…

“I thought you might like to hear it one last time. See, I can be nice sometimes,” Sora says, still humming.

Riku keeps rowing, though at a much slower pace than before. All this time, he’s held back tears from every hurtful comment and harsh sneer, but—now they’re dangerously close.

_One last time._

Right…because, after tonight…

“Hey! Don’t slow down,” Sora scolds, voice dropping to a harsh tone he’s never heard before. “This is the only way. You want them to be happy, right?”

Riku nods, if on autopilot, mind still stuck on the melody. Yes, he wants them to be happy, more than anything.

“Then get rowing. You need to atone for what you did once and for all.”

The ride is long, but the waters are still and easy to row in. He knows the path by heart, so vision isn’t a problem. It’s almost too peaceful of a night to be on the water. He feels like he’s intruding all of a sudden, that with each toss of an oar he shatters the fragile peace.

Well…wouldn’t be the first time he’s ruined a good thing.

Tying his boat on the dock feels final. A sturdy bowline knot, one step, and the hard wood of the docks knocks under his boots. Almost there.

He hopes someone comes back for his boat. It would be a shame for a perfectly good boat to be wasted.

With each step, whispers start to build.

_“Leave.”_

_“You killed us. You killed us all. For what?”_

_“How could you destroy our home? I always knew there was something wrong with you…freak.”_

He pauses. Tidus. That was Tidus’ voice near the end.

Oh…these are the islanders. These are all the people he hurt.

“They all came to say goodbye,” Sora says, nudging him forward. “C’mon, don’t be chicken. Face the noise.”

The voices rise in harmony, never rising above a loud whisper, as Riku walks the line and listens to the dirge. The entrance should be close by, but he feels so bogged down, that the hesitation between each step is hours apart.

“Riku?”

Riku ignores the questioning tone. Nothing this Sora says means anything anymore. He’s so tired…

But when a hand lands on his shoulder, he can’t help but gasp.

It’s _warm._

That’s…not Not-Sora’s hand.

“Riku, what’s going on? Where are you going?”

Tilting his head towards Sora—this strange warm Sora who had managed to sneak past all his defenses even with the blindfold heightening his other senses—he frowns. It doesn’t make sense.

Therefore—

Another hallucination. Isn’t one cruel Sora enough?

_Hold on for just a minute longer, it’s okay, just ignore them…don’t be weak, don’t think twice…_

But the voices are so loud, and he’s been so alone, and he’s cold and exhausted and _so sick of being sick_ that he speaks without knowing what he’s saying.

“Have to go, I have to…go, have to…” Riku mumbles under his breath, steps shaky, nearly slipping in the pale moonlit sand.

The hand grasps his arm again, stopping Riku in his tracks. Calloused, warm—this Sora is so warm, a balm on his clammy, sweaty, freezing skin, real and solid and—

It squeezes. “Riku, what are you talking about?” The hand slides up. “You’re burning up!”

“Burning?” Ah, that’s what that is? This pain?

Good. Let it burn. Let it consume him in the blaze, let it sweep him in ash and smoke until he’s forgotten dust swept into the breeze.

The hand tugs. “We have to get you back inside—what were you thinking, this is a really bad fever! And why are you wearing your cloak, I thought you threw that thing out—"

To his other side, the other Sora, the frostbitten Sora snarls: “Can’t even do this right. If you were quieter, I wouldn’t have heard, and then I wouldn’t be obligated to stand here with your pathetic self, saving your worthless life again—"

Riku rips his arms from Sora’s warm grip. “No. No, I have to go.”

“Go _where,_ Riku?” Sora bites, growing frustrated, and maybe it’s worry like he wants to believe but all Riku hears is contempt, how _fed up_ Sora is of dealing with him.

“Away. You said—this is the way. This is the only way.”

“Riku—hey, quit walking! You’re scaring me.” There’s a tug on the back knot of the tie around his eyes, and Riku whirls around—

“Just shut up!” Riku yells, snapping. “I’m _going,_ like you told me to! Can’t you just—go away? I’m doing this for you!”

And he tries walking forward again, to meet his fate, but like always, Sora can never leave well enough alone.

Riku nearly hears the pieces connecting in Sora’s mind as Riku climbs the ledge stairs and starts to head to the secret place.

Then he’s up in his personal space again.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Sora asks, all worried, like he actually cares, and the thought of Sora’s _worry_ makes him clench his teeth as agony lances through his heart.

He’s only ever wanted Sora’s attention, Sora’s love. His mind is so sadistic to dangle it in front of his yearning heart now.

“Being around you is a nightmare, to me,” the dark Sora dogging his shadow hisses in his ear. “Don’t fool yourself. You’re still the most sickening person I’ve ever met—"

But that noise fades to the back.

This fake Sora in front of him, earnest and _kind—_ who is he?

The one who promises, firmly: “The door’s closed, Riku. It can’t hurt us any longer.”

It _can’t_ be closed. If it was truly closed, then he wouldn’t hear the knocking, pounding through his eardrums and pressing behind his eyes.

Closed, maybe, but unlocked. He needs to open it. He needs to leave, where no one will ever find him again—

He doesn’t realize he’s mumbling, spilling all his secrets out to the air so the magic wears off the words he promised to keep safe, until Sora grabs his wrists.

“Riku. C’mon, let’s go back home, yeah? Just take a few deep breaths, calm down a little, and we’ll go back to the main island and talk about this, okay? Let’s go home.”

Home?

Home isn’t here. His home…is in the dark. Where he should have stayed.

So why does this Not-Sora sound so panicked about him leaving if this is what he wants at heart?

Sors is blocking his path, now, his only exit, and the other Sora behind him is whispering, hissing, starting to shout. Then, if he does turn around, if he takes a step back, the islanders would be on him like piranhas in a blood-filled lake.

He’s trapped, he realizes, even more so than he’d been before.

_“Get out. Get out. Go. GO!”_

Riku rips his wrists away from Sora, tries to push past—but Sora is _strong,_ grip relentless, and he holds him down with some effort.

He keeps trying to calm him down, voice low and soothing, as if Riku was the one going crazy when in reality this is the first time he’s actually been _awake_ now that he found his true purpose.

But then why are his hands shaking? Why is he so light-headed?

“Let me go, Sora,” Riku says. “Let me do this.”

“I’m not letting you go!” Sora argues loudly, fierce determination lacing his words.

Sora always fights for him. Is Riku really so desperate for love that he created a Sora that wears his heart on his sleeve right before the end?

The shadow voices push at him again, and even behind his empty mask, yellow eyes dance in his vision.

“Let me go. Or I’ll move you myself.”

“No! Listen to me, Riku—"

With the last of his strength, Riku _pulls_ with all his strength to break the hold and takes advantage of Sora’s surprise to summon a weapon.

There’s a giggle behind him, giddy and bright. “Oh, is this how it’s going to be? You finally snapped! Gonna kill me, Riku? I always knew you had it in you. I thought you couldn’t ruin my life any further, but you always go above and beyond everyone’s expectations.”

He’s not—he’s not going to _hurt_ this Sora, he just needs to get past—if he can slip by Sora, break for the door, maybe, maybe—

He’ll be okay. _Everyone_ will be okay.

He tries to keep his voice strong and confident, and not rattling apart with barely constrained tears. _“Move.”_

There’s the distinct sound of a Keyblade being summoned. “No. I won’t let you do this. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m not going to let it happen!”

Sora’s shifting to a battle stance. Sora’s getting ready to fight him. The tension grows in the air.

Oh. Riku’s a threat now.

Is this his end? That wouldn’t be so bad. Surely, under Sora’s hand, he’ll redeem himself—

An ice-cold grip wraps around his throat. “If you die here, you will never atone. Open the door. Open the _door.”_

Like a shot, Riku launches himself forward with his blade held high.

Sora fights back with all his strength, matching him blow for blow. Riku uses the wind whispers as they swish past his face and the shuffling of the sand to pinpoint his position, to strike without sight with brutal, deadly accuracy.

There are no magic spells driving their moves. Just two boys sword fighting on a beach, each fighting desperately for what they want most in this very moment.

Sora may be strong, even stronger than Riku right now, but Riku is fueled by pure adrenaline from the chorus of chitters from the ocean, from the faceless islanders, from his ever-chasing sneering shadow—

A hit connects. A gasp from Sora. Riku’s heart stops.

Even though they were both fighting with all their might—hearing Sora _react_ to a blow caused by him freezes him in place.

Sora’s in pain. Sora’s in pain because of him.

No. No. His head is spinning, spinning, spiraling, drifting—

There’s sweat dripping, dripping down his forehead, his neck, his spine. He wipes it away. He wipes, and wipes, and scratches, and pulls, wanting to tear out of his skin—

The blindfold falls away.

His hands are stained red.

“That’s my blood, ‘ku,” Not-Sora chirps. “Remember? You killed me.”

When he looks up, Soul Eater drips copper pennies on the yellow sands of Destiny Isles, and Sora hangs off the end of it, glassy-eyed and betrayed, betrayed, dying, dead—

Then Not-Sora laughs behind him. “Maybe not like this. Might as well have, though. I mean, you destroyed my home, Riku. My mom. My friends. The trees. That six-toed cat by my house.”

Sora, with the blade wedged through his heart, gasps. A dark hand reaches around Riku to grasp his sword hand, drives it deeper, letting it dig like the fractured edges of his own heart.

“I never said it, but I hated you then. I say I don’t now, but…well, how else would this darkness exist in my heart?

Riku’s tears run black. Poison, at his very core.

_“—ku, snap out of it! Calm down, **please,** please listen to me—”_

He blinks, and blinks, and blinks—

And then Sora is okay.

In front of him, Sora is surrounded by a writhing mass of Heartless, but his eyes are only focused on Riku. It’s like he doesn’t even feel them crawling over his skin.

Are they real? Is Sora real?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know._

The Sora behind him is screaming instead, now, furious and frightening and incessant. But the other Sora—his Sora, the kind Sora—is as calm as the ocean waves they stand by. Unhurt, but breathing heavily.

The screaming is loud: _“Don’t ignore me. You can’t hide from what you’ve done, Riku. What you did to me. You don’t belong here!”_

Riku looks down, looks for that dripping red, Sora’s blood, but there’s nothing. Nothing but Braveheart and his poisonous darkness—

Braveheart?

No. Don’t focus on that. It’s a trick. A light Keyblade would never come to his dark heart, not anymore. He has to go, _now._ Or else the pounding in his head won’t ever quit.

He squeezes his still-raw hand into a fist, refocusing.

No matter how scared he is, his time is now.

Putting all his power in the soles of his feet, he ignores Sora’s pleading words— _please, listen!—_ and _dashes_.

It doesn’t matter what the shadows say. The outcome will be the same if Sora bashes his head in or if he makes it to the door.

It will be okay.

He sees Sora raise his Keyblade, and Riku closes his eyes, waiting, knowing he’s not fast enough to dodge in his weakened state—

But of course, Sora never does as expected.

Instead of blinding pain, warm arms wrap around his body, pulling him down. There’s a _clatter_ as Sora’s Keyblade is tossed away, clinking on the wood planks nearby.

And Riku falls into Sora’s arms.

Riku gasps wetly. The burning heat of Sora is almost too much to bear for his cold-dark-overheating body. Kneeling on the sand, Sora’s strong arms tighten around his own like steel bands, effectively trapping him.

He wiggles to try and break the hold, tries to follow the Not-Sora with lampshade eyes into the secret place, but—the beach is quiet. His mind is quiet.

Here, with his head tucked under Sora’s chin, everything is quiet.

“Why…?” Riku whispers. “No, I have to _go…_ you hate me, why are you doing this?”

“Shh, shh,” Sora shushes. One of his hands starts pushing the tangled hair away from his forehead, digging into his scalp with a firm, comforting rhythm. “I don’t hate you. I have never, _ever_ hated you, Riku. Not once. Not ever. Never will.”

“I’m pathetic, _weak—"_

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that about yourself. Here, follow my breathes, see? In…” Sora breathes in, and weak to the thrall, Riku follows. “And out. Good. You’re doing so good, Riku.”

Sora’s heartbeat is steady and sure. In his own chest, Riku’s fits to that tune as easy as breathing, and Riku’s breathing hitches even worse than before.

This is…the real Sora.

He nearly killed his best friend again. All because of Riku’s weakness. Of wanting to save him from himself.

Riku tries one more to time to break out, but his limbs barely twitch. It’s impossible to so much as lift them, he’s so powerless. Tears spill over his eyes and start dripping onto Sora’s lap.

But they run clear.

They’re not toxic.

What was real? What was a lie?

Is this real? Is this a lie?

He’s still panicked, still worried—at any moment, that other Sora is going to pop up, force him to stand, to march to the door and banish himself even though he wants nothing more than to exist in his Sora’s comforting embrace for the rest of his life.

The arms tighten, locking him in, and Riku has never felt safer under imprisonment.

 _“Sleep,”_ Sora whispers. Unconsciously, Riku’s eyes start to drift close without his command. The words were laced with magic and Riku, in his fever-sick state, is helpless to resist the pull.

“No…” Riku moans miserably.

“C’mon, Riku, _sleep_. It’s okay. Let go. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll be okay.”

Like a litany, like a lullaby, Sora repeats the words, whispers them into the peak of his pounding skull as his strong fingers thread through his hair in comforting caresses.

The magic weaves into his overwhelmed mind, pulling him down, but even as he fights his body going lax, he feels _safe._

And so he falls, cradled in warm arms, protected from the world around him.

He’ll wake up. He’s sure of it.

Because he knows this is real.

Because he believes in Sora.

* * *

When Riku wakes up, it’s slow.

The first thing he notices is that he’s pressed into soft cushions and tucked under a warm comforter.

Riku breathes in, out, clutches the pillow he’s holding closer and nuzzles his face in. He feels…good. A little sore, and still tired, but not paranoid and panicking. Not overly hot either, with aching joints and fluid-filled minds.

He keeps his eyes closed. If there’s any darkness or shadows here, he doesn’t want to break the gentle spell just yet. Everything is floaty and warm and safe…

And there’s a hand stroking through his hair.

Riku slowly opens his eyes, hardly daring to believe it.

The room is dimmed and twilit. Oh. He’s in _Sora’s_ bed—he helped organize those colorful fairy lights strung along the wall when they were eight, and the pillow smells like his coconut body wash. Riku doesn’t admit to breathing it in, relaxing in the comfort even if he knows it’s a little creepy to do so.

The pillow laughs. “I can’t smell _that_ good.”

Riku’s breath hitches, and all at once, the sleepy limbo evaporates.

“Sora!” Riku bursts out, and jackknives up and off _Sora,_ the very comfy pillow he’s been _snuggling_ for who-knows-how-long. “I—I—”

“Hey, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Riku!” Sora shouts, pressing on his shoulders. “You’re safe. It’s okay.”

“What—where—” Riku mutters out, voice scratchy. When he coughs, Sora presses a glass of water to his lips. As quick as he can, he takes in big gulps and deep breathes like his life depends on it.

Sora inspects his face with furrowed brows, as if looking for something. “We’re in my house on the islands. You’ve, uh, been asleep for…around two days or so? Well, mostly asleep.”

Riku clears his throat. Probably why his throat’s so dry, but that doesn’t explain why it hurts like hell.

He can’t read the expression in Sora’s eyes; only gets antsy the longer he can’t decipher it. “Um…”

“…How much do you remember?”

 _Nothing,_ he starts to say—but then his brain catches up with the past few days.

Oh. Right. _That_ happened.

“Everything,” Riku says numbly.

Everything. The insomnia. The shadow stalkers. The hallucinations. Not-Sora. The—the beach. Fighting Sora. Having his worst fears be paraded in front of him like jangling party beads.

His fears. His pain. His thoughts, that this is the only way, the only way to be happy ever again is to _leave—_

Riku goes to scrub at his face, to physically wipe away the memories, before he realizes his hands are bound and attached to—“Um, Sora?”

“Oh, sorry!” Sora laughs sheepishly. He jiggles their connected wrists, two of Riku’s and one of Sora’s. Riku’s injured hand from punching the glass is even bandaged up nicely. “You woke up once and weren’t doing so hot so I kinda—” Sora gestures. “You know?”

Huh? What did he do, exactly? Riku furrows his brows. He doesn’t remember _that._

But if whatever he did caused Sora to get so worried as to tie him _down,_ even just to him…it must not have been good. A wave of shame rushes over Riku. Is there anything he hasn’t ruined?

“Sorry…” he whispers, bowing his head, before it’s tilted back up with gentle fingers.

“Don’t be. Please, don’t be upset anymore,” Sora starts to reach for the tie binding them together before pausing. “You’re not going to try and run again, right?”

“No,” Riku says honestly. Seemingly satisfied, the tie falls away, and Riku strangely feels bereft.

Riku flexes his wrists, thinking. Sora notices.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, don’t worry. You just pushed us around a little bit. No big deal,” Sora tries a smile, but this one is dimmer than the last, and he starts twiddling his thumbs.

“…Something else happened,” Riku summarizes, but Sora shakes his head.

He sighs, heavy and shaky and long. “I was so worried, Riku. You woke up once and just—you started screaming. You kept saying all these things and…you said them so _viciously._ Like you really, really believed them.”

Ah. Now he remembers why he wanted to leave. Because he’s a vicious, sick, cruel bastard.

“I’m so, so, sorry, for whatever I said, Sora—”

“Not towards _us,_ stupid!” Sora raises his voice, and _oh,_ now Riku can hear unshed tears in it. Sora wipes it away. “The words were for you. You stood up and tried to summon a dark portal and you were beating yourself up the _whole time_ and Aqua had to knock you out with another spell, you were so upset. And I—I was scared that, if I accidentally fell asleep, you wouldn’t be there when I woke up. So…” Sora gestures to the little red tie.

“Aqua? Aqua was here?” Riku asks. Tentatively, he leans closer to Sora, wanting to help but not knowing what he needs.

Sora nods, sniffing. “Yeah. After I dragged you off the island, I just started hitting buttons on my phone until it called someone. Aqua was in the ‘A’s so, top of the list.”

Digging through his pockets, Sora pulls out a small green vial, half-empty. “Yen Sid sent this. Once I told him, um, the things you were doing, he guessed what was wrong and sent an antidote.”

“Antidote?” So, he _was_ poisoned, though not by his own darkness?

“On your last mission, did you go somewhere with lots of flowers?” Sora says, switching track. Riku thinks back.

The mission before his impromptu vacation-hellscape was off in a forest of some kind. There was a mischievous Heartless aggravating the local residents that _refused_ to stay still, hence why they called in a seasoned wielder to deal with it.

At some point, he does remember a field of flowers… “There were some, yes.”

“Any of ‘em look like this?” Sora taps a few buttons on his phone and pulls a picture of a white flower, with a purple spiral twisting up from center of it.

It takes him a minute, but he suddenly remembers. “Yeah!” The Heartless had tripped him down the hill once and sent him careening down back into the forested area where his head got stuck in a log, embarrassingly enough.

On top of that, a bunch of strangely glowing white flowers inside the log spit pollen in his face, which kept making him sneeze as he chased. He really wasn’t at his “A-game” that day.

“It’s apparently called a Shadowed Moonflower. It’s, uh, native to the Realm of Darkness, but it somehow got here. It’s really rare and not many are around anymore.” Sora gives him an imploring look. “Yen Sid said it turns your worst fears against you to force you to the darkness, so when you open a Keyhole or a door, then…well, the Heartless, that’s one way they can get into our world.”

Oh. So that’s why…all that.

Well. Good to know those conversations with his friends were all hallucinations.

Bad news is that he knows some of them _weren’t,_ and so he probably flipped out on the real one while cursing out their hallucination-self right next to them.

“…Ah,” is all Riku says to that, voice flat.

“Yeah.”

Silence. The kind of awkward, toxic silence that starts to dig into his messed-up mind.

Manipulated by darkness, again. By dark _flowers,_ no less. That’s just sad.

His bout of sickness might have all just been a hallucinogenic frenzy, but that doesn’t change the fact that Riku was _tempted_ to the dark. He almost gave in.

He would have given in, if Sora hadn’t saved him. _Again._

“Hey!” Sora snaps suddenly, and then his cheeks are gently grabbed to tug his eyes up, gazing into deep blue, sparkling sternly. “I know what you’re thinking, Riku. This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

“Just because I got sick doesn’t mean it wasn’t _me.”_

“Okay, first of all: being sick _is_ an excuse. Remember that time I got that really bad fever when I was 7 and I thought there were alligators in my room? You had that bruise on your cheek from my flailing for _days._ I felt guilty that whole summer!”

“Yeah, but—that’s _different—_ ”

“Was that my fault? Did you stop being my friend after that?” Sora insists, not giving him any moment to dwell. Riku feels like he’s drowning, but lovingly. The kind of watery embrace you drift in on cloudy days while you wait for the sun to come out.

“Of course not! It was an accident!” Riku snaps.

Sora gives him an imploring look, and Riku tears his eyes away.

This is not like that. This is preying on his _existing_ weakness, not a made-up sudden fear of alligators.

Because he’s an open book, Sora spears him right through again. “And you’re not _weak_ or whatever other mean thought you’re beating yourself up over right now. The darkness…it’s done some really, really bad things to us, Riku. I mean, I’ve…well, I’ve messed up a lot around it, you know?”

“That wasn’t—Sora…”

“Xehanort manipulated me to attack him in the stupid war. I fell into an endless dream and nearly became a—a _vessel._ I screwed up in Castle Oblivion and also got knocked out there. _I made mistakes._ And you know what? I’ll probably keep making them, too! But I move past them. I don’t let them control me.”

Now Sora’s thumbs brush under his eyes, voice soft as he leans his forehead against Riku’s. “And I won’t let them control you either. I just want you to see how amazing you are. How much I love you, Riku.”

Riku blinks. Blinks again. And then…maybe, a few warm trails of tears run down his face.

Words he’s always wanted to hear. It can’t be real. It can’t be.

But…his hands are warm. He’s humming. The blankets are soft and the star lights are shining.

Maybe…just this once…maybe for the future, maybe for forever…he can believe in Sora’s words.

The _real_ Sora.

His throat clicks when he swallows thickly. “I believe you, Sora. And I…” _love you too._

That annoying throat click won’t leave! This sudden case of dry mouth is ruining his— _embarrassing confession—_

But Sora knows what he’s trying to say. He always does.

Sora’s eyes sparkle brightly, a megawatt grin stretching over his face. “Good! You _better_ believe it! And I’ll keep reminding you for the rest of our lives if I have to.” His gaze turns sly. “Also, you might want to avoid your messages for a hot minute.”

“What’s wrong with…?” Riku starts to ask, but that’s just as his phone dings on the side table.

 **33 new messages.** The screen says.

Riku blanches.

“I told them not to call you because I didn’t want to overwhelm you so soon, but it was open season on well-wishing texts. So once you’re feeling better, get ready to be attacked with love, mister!” Sora sounds positively thrilled at the idea.

_Oh boy._

His friends are going to go all out, Riku knows. There’s going to be hugs and long talks and ridiculous amounts of ice cream and later on, jokes and hanging out and having fun and laughing—

And it sounds so, _so_ wonderful to him. For the first time since this whole incident began, he wants to see them as soon as possible.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Riku says with a sincere laugh, the last of his tears drying up with a cheerful, if gross, sniffle.

Honestly, he’s feeling a million times better already thanks to Sora, but even with two days of sleep his eyes are still drooping heavily.

All these emotions are exhausting to handle all at once.

Still, he’s not alone. He never _will_ be alone with everyone by his side.

Carefully, Sora lays him back down as Riku’s head drops to his shoulder, easily falling into his arms with a laugh as Riku does the sleepy-grabby-hands he learned from Sora.

Easy as breathing, Sora goes back to stroking through his hair, and Riku melts even further.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Mhmm…Sora?” Riku mumbles out. He snuggles into the warmth further. “Love you…”

Now Sora’s the one who sounds choked up. The last thing Riku hears before he drifts off—warm, happy, safe, protected—is Sora mumbling it right back, sinking into his heart and sparking his very soul to beat in tune.

**Author's Note:**

> This was cathartic to write. Not everyone’s tastes, but I really needed some sad stuff to vent out. Just some good ol' fashioned fever dreams and extreme angst.
> 
> This is based on the Supernatural episode “Yellow Fever” which has kind of become a cross-fandom staple from what I’ve seen. This is my own angsty take on it. I may have overdone it though, oops. This was not meant to go on as long as it did.


End file.
